


Take Two

by hhaikyuuties



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: AU, M/M, Modeling AU, enjoy, for my wonderful sister, please leave comments and make me finish this guys, so now look what's happened, this is entirely your fault staar, this is my first multichapter, who won't shut about about yoi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-13 06:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12978387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hhaikyuuties/pseuds/hhaikyuuties
Summary: His admiration for Viktor wasn’t just attraction to his looks, even though Yuuri found Viktor undeniably and utterly gorgeous.  Viktor also held himself in a certain way, displayed a certain refinement, and gave off a certain aura that captured you, whether it be accompanied by a melting smile or serious expression that was somehow, impossibly, cold without being off-putting.  As a kid, Yuuri would find himself posing like Viktor in his early-career magazine spreads and luxury brand advertisements, while some of his friends played along and some of his classmates laughed at him.  He looked stupid, they said, or was acting like a girl.  He was in love with fashion, in love with the boy in the magazine, should throw on a dress and propose to the model already, they said.Yuuri wanted to point out that admiring beauty didn’t exclusively belong to one gender or sexuality, and that a pretty person was a pretty person, but realized it would be futile--if he could even put his thoughts into words, which he couldn’t.  Explaining himself was never his specialty; he sought to show how he felt through his actions and appearance in his dancing and, later, in modeling.





	Take Two

**Author's Note:**

  * For [midnightstaar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnightstaar/gifts).



It was the most embarrassing moment he had experienced in a long time--and that was saying something.  

After tripping-- _ tripping! _ \--on stage, Yuuri felt like he could see his career up until that point flash before his eyes.  Not that it had been a particularly successful one, though; he could swear half his fan base was made up of his hometown.  He’s pretty sure he only had a shot at Tokyo Fashion Week because he was a native of the country; his moderate fame in Japan managed to land him a slot.  

Making a fool of himself in front of an entire industry and everyone he knew was bad enough.  But the icing on the cake really had to be the viewership of his long-time idol Viktor Nikiforov.

Switching bad dessert metaphors, the cherry on top was definitely Viktor looking his way and  _ addressing him  _ after the show.

“Want a commemorative photo?” his idol asked in a smooth voice, his expression polite and welcoming as always.   _ Huh, he doesn’t seem the least bit malicious _ , Yuuri thought.  Maybe he wasn’t trying to exacerbate his humiliation on purpose.  Figures, considering the man was as close to perfect as they come, at least in Yuuri’s eyes.  But Yuuri  _ was _ humiliated, and Viktor’s acknowledgement of his existence only made it a thousand times worse.

Which is why, despite the opportunity to have his run-in with the man be preserved in glossy print, Yuuri whirled around and strode right out the door.   _ Now, not only does he think I’m incapable, he thinks I’m rude, too _ , Yuuri thought regrettably.  

 

Defeated and disheartened, Yuuri returned home, ashamed eyes cast downward as he fed his ticket into a machine and walked through the station gate.  Upon crossing the threshold, a woman came flying towards him--Yuuri would have said barreling towards him, except she was way too light and petite to have that verb associated with her--and enveloped him in a strong hug.  Being greeted enthusiastically by his childhood dance teacher, Minako, was a given, and Yuuri felt a smile cross his features as a sense of gratitude flowed through him.  He was forever indebted to her for her time, effort, and patience.  Without it, he never would have been able to hold himself in front of an audience and dance the way he did.  That’s how he was discovered; his apparently charming looks and graceful movements caught the attention of a Tokyo modeling agency employee on vacation from the big city.  Always an anxious, reserved child, Yuuri felt he was by no means the best person for the role; but something flowing under his skin, like blood through his veins, spurred him to jump on the opportunity and fight for it tooth-and-nail despite his natural self-conscious tendencies.  There was something about embodying grace and beauty that pulled at Yuuri; it was less about vanity and more about self-expression and sharing his interpretation of a feeling.  It sounded esoteric to put it that way, and maybe he was just making excuses for choosing a career that seemed so shallow and insignificant on the surface, but it was how he felt.

It was all for naught though, he thought, as he walked into the  _ genkan _ of his family’s home-slash-hot-springs-resort.  Pounds heavier and uninspired, the male practically emanated a negative, self-deprecating aura like a noxious gas.  But his mother--bless the woman--did not allow herself to be affected or the atmosphere of her home be polluted; she greeted Yuuri with a cheerful handclap and a smile, bouncing and running up to him to envelop him in an embrace only a mother could give.

“Yuuri, I’m so glad you’re finally home,” she gushed, not the least bit of disappointment lining her words.  It had been five years since he’d been back in Hasetsu; his job had him attending shows across the globe, posing for photo shoots in America, and strutting across the runways in Milan and Paris--albeit never for Fashion Week, although he had hoped to do so one day.   _ Fat chance _ , he thought miserably, after his embarrassing performance in Tokyo.  

His hometown and house-slash-hot-springs itself retained the same charm it always had.  Yuuri felt he could fully appreciate it now, though, having been away for so long.  His mom quickly and effectively filled his no-longer-runway-ready belly with his favorite  _ katsudon _ .  

Despite his weight gain, though, his body wasn’t used to such a portion of fried goodness and carbs; he found himself feeling sick afterwards.  He hadn’t completely reverted to non-model Yuuri, then, he supposed.  What was he doing, anyway, running home with his tail between his legs, stuffing his face, pitying himself while he curled up under a blanket and watched TV?  

 

Stopping by the local  _ konbini _ that evening, Yuuri saw the cover of a fashion magazine.  On it was none other than his beloved Viktor, jaw-droppingly handsome and confident as ever.  

The man’s smile, captured in the glossy print, recalled Yuuri’s many memories of his childhood and the time spent adoring Viktor with his friends.  A teenage Viktor was stunning enough to be placed in a couple of major fashion ads that were published in magazines worldwide.  Yuuri had always felt enraptured by Viktor’s gaze, both gentle and unrelinquishing.  His embarrassment came rushing back to him.  He shook his head, shaking his entire body, his whole being, trying to dispel the memory, but it clung to him like it was his own skin.  He glanced back at the magazine photo and let out a breath he hadn’t know he’d been holding in. 

 

Yuuko, his childhood friend, was the one to blame for introducing Yuuri to his obsession.  Yuuko loved taking pictures, especially of people, and wanted to be a photographer.  Perusing foreign magazines, she had come across Viktor, and was an immediate fan.  Yuuko, who danced at the same studio as Yuuri when they were kids, was a bright, energetic girl capable of giving Yuuri a little push whenever he was down.  She was something of a childhood crush of his; her welcoming smile and optimistic personality naturally drew people to her.  

 

That first evening he was home, he encountered her upon returning to the dance studio of his childhood.  She worked at the studio, instructing classes for some of the tiny aspiring dancers--including her own daughters--and practically screamed when she saw Yuuri.  It had been so long, she said, and she knew--understood--exactly why he was there; to regain the inspiration and motivation he had managed to lose somewhere along the way.

She left him to find himself in the mirrored room.  He worked up a good sweat, his legs screaming as he tried to force them to regain their former flexibility.  It had been only weeks since he had danced last--he used dance both for peace of mind and to keep himself in shape--but he already had lost a lot that he wanted to regain (and gained a lot that he wanted to lose, weight-wise).  He was surprised at his conviction, at the knowledge that he wanted to grab ahold of something so tied up with his short-lived career that ended in failure.  There was a creeping sense in him, growing larger and more conspicuous by the minute, that he wanted to return to the runway.  The inspiration that started him down his chosen path was still hovering in the air, fleeting.  Yet he felt it was attainable if he would only make a concerted effort.

 

Fresh from the shower, sweat washed away along with some crippling regret, Yuuri went to his closet and pulled out a pitch-black suit.  It was just slim-fitting enough to be a modern twist on a classic without losing its sense of professionalism.  This was the outfit Viktor had worn for the cover of a prominent fashion magazine, and it had become an instant hit and new permanent piece in the brand’s collection.  Yuuri had bought one himself--anonymously, of course--after being unable to take his eyes off the glossy page for days, wishing he could have a fraction of the refinement and confidence that Viktor had, the man looking both upscale and self-aware yet utterly at ease with himself.

 

His mistake was letting Yuuko take his photo when he showed himself clad in the iconic outfit.  He knew she would comprehend and wordlessly accept his attempts to relocate his inspiration.  Why was it a mistake then, you might ask?  Because her daughters, obsessed with Instagram--even at their ridiculously young ages--posted it on their mother’s well-followed account.  Given Yuuko’s connection with Yuuri, she had taken a number of photos of him before and actively promoted him, so it was not surprising that this photo made its way around the sphere of fashion icons on the social media site.  Yuuri prayed to countless unnamed gods that it would never make its way in front of Viktor’s eyes.  That hope was short-lived, though; Christophe Giacometti, an Italian model well-known for his erotic poses and suggestive looks, tagged Viktor, along with the note: “Wearing your clothes--kinky.”

Yep, Yuuri was pretty sure his life was over.

 

And Yuuri was doubly sure his life had ended when the man-slash-fashion-god appeared at his family’s humble resort a few days later, desecrating the hot springs with his borderline lewd behavior.  He wasn’t sure whether Viktor’s sudden appearance meant he was in heaven or hell, though.

 

A few days after returning home, Yuuri sighed as he bundled up to brave the cold.  Despite it being April already, snow had covered the area, and Yuuri had been volunteered to shovel.   _ Couldn’t hurt to burn off some of that katsudon,  _ Yuuri supposed.  

 

No sooner had Yuuri gotten both feet into his boots when he was tackled by a large, fluffy object.  Yuuri readjusted his glasses, thrown askew by the intruder, and realized it was in fact a furry dog.  One Yuuri realized looked uncannily like Viktor’s dog, Makkachin.  Yuuri couldn’t ignore the way his stomach flipped over.  He heard someone behind him and his head spun around so fast he nearly got whiplash.

“Yuuri, there’s a really attractive  _ gaijin  _ here for some reason, and he’s causing quite the commotion.”

Hearing whispers amongst his other family members that he couldn’t believe, Yuuri practically ran out to the men’s bath, only to find his idol soaking as if he never had a care in the world and wasn’t in a foreign country unable to speak the local language.  He stood up, held up a hand to Yuuri, and struck a pose.  The others averted their eyes, and a couple grumbled.  Yuuri would have to apologize later for the visitor’s strange behavior.  But that thought came second; first came the complete lack of thought, the feeling of nothing but pure and utter surprise.  Yuuri’s brain turned to fuzz and he felt like he was hearing Viktor through a glass window as the ostentatious figure addressed him.  

“Yuuri,” the pale man, cheeks rosy from the warm bath, began, “I’m here to bring you back out into the spotlight!”

 

Yuuri quickly escorted Viktor out of the baths.  By the time Yuuri seated Viktor across from himself in their dining room, Yuuri’s mother had prepared a steaming bowl of  _ katsudon _ for the foreigner to try (he had requested Yuuri’s favorite food when asked what he wanted to eat, causing a shy and self-conscious blush to cover the Japanese boy’s face).  

 

“I’m taking a break to help you cultivate your skills,” Viktor began in between bites.  “I just feel so uninspired.  I needed to change things up.  And you,” he leaned forward a little more, “need to change up your eating and fitness routine!  Look at yourself!”  Viktor reached across the table and pinched the fat--there really was minimal,  _ come on _ , Yuuri thought--on Yuuri’s hip and Yuuri gasped at the sensation of the cold fingers of someone who was closer to a stranger than anything else.

What a hypocrite, Yuuri thought, as he watched Viktor happily eat his first  _ katsudon _ meal.  But he would concede that the silver-haired man ate it slowly and carefully; he wanted to savor every bite and let the high-calorie meal digest as best as possible.  Yuuri was glad; Viktor belonged on the covers of magazines and under the bright lights of runways, and Yuuri fully wished for his return.

 

Viktor decided to not only bodily drag Yuuri back to the fashion world, but also force him into a hellish fitness regiment, a series of lectures with tips and tricks for gaining the public’s love and attention, and embarrassing sessions where Viktor would make Yuuri to practice poses.  The worst were the “sexy” poses Viktor made Yuuri try; sure, Viktor could pull them off, but Yuuri knew he only looked like a clown when he mimicked them.  Viktor was half-angel half-Greek-god and Yuuri was just a normal person who happened to have a soft, youthful face with just enough modest charm to catch a few eyes.  His limited fame was only possible because Minako taught him how to hold himself.  He felt he was not the natural--nearly supernatural--person for the role like Viktor.

His admiration for Viktor wasn’t just attraction to his looks, even though Yuuri found Viktor undeniably and utterly gorgeous.  Viktor also held himself in a certain way, displayed a certain refinement, and gave off a certain aura that captured you, whether it be accompanied by a melting smile or serious expression that was somehow, impossibly, cold without being off-putting.  As a kid, Yuuri would find himself posing like Viktor in his early-career magazine spreads and luxury brand advertisements, while some of his friends played along and some of his classmates laughed at him.  He looked stupid, they said, or was acting like a girl.  He was in love with fashion, in love with the boy in the magazine, should throw on a dress and propose to the model already, they said.

Yuuri wanted to point out that admiring beauty didn’t exclusively belong to one gender or sexuality, and that a pretty person was a pretty person, but realized it would be futile--if he could even put his thoughts into words, which he couldn’t.  Explaining himself was never his specialty; he sought to show how he felt through his actions and appearance in his dancing and, later, in modeling.

 

Yuuri Katsuki wasn’t the only aspiring model who was an ardent admirer of Viktor, though.  

 

Yuri Plisetsky wasn’t all-too-thrilled to hear Viktor had invited himself into Yuuri’s life and home.  The teenage blond, who looked almost like a fairy but was fiercer than anyone else Yuuri had encountered, was rumored to be the future protege of Viktor, as both were talented and worked for the same modeling agency in St. Petersburg.  

Yuuri had encountered the up-and-coming Russian model after the fateful Tokyo show.  Trying to get ahold of himself in the bathroom after the incident, apologies flew out of Yuuri’s mouth into his phone and across miles to his mother.  He was interrupted by the hot-blooded blond, who pushed open the door to the bathroom with such force that the resounding  _ bang!  _ was heard by his mother on the other end of the line.

“Idiot!” the boy spat at him after spewing his belief that there only needed to be one “Yuri;” people kept getting the two of them mixed up due to their similar names.  One might surmise the boy’s Russian-accented English would be hard for the native Japanese Yuuri to distinguish, but no--Yuri Plisetsky barked his complaint with such clarity that Yuuri caught every word. 

 

Now, just days after Viktor’s arrival in Yuuri’s hometown, Yuuri opened his front door to find the Russian Yuri glaring at him, clad in tiger-print sweatshirt--such a far cry from the height of fashion, it was truly remarkable--and accompanied by a heavy-looking suitcase.  The blond glared up at Yuuri despite standing in the threshold of the latter’s home.  

 

“Where the hell is Viktor, loser?  And when did you become such a pig?”

 

Yuuri sensed the gods would not be giving him any rest for quite a while.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my sister for being my beta again. Please leave comments/criticisms/suggestions (need to make myself finish my first multi-chapter!) and thanks for reading! Find me at @thehundredthproblem on tumblr and talk to me about yoi or anything else :)


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